The Uprising: A Companion Novel (The Hunt Book 5)

by Liz Meldon

  “What exactly are you implying, sister mine?”

  “You know what I’m implying.”

  Holy fuck if Ella didn’t feed in the next thirty seconds, she was going to start screaming like a goddamn banshee.

  A tense beat passed before Malachi all but threw her across the bedroom. She landed in a heap on the floor, her shoulder taking the brunt of the fall, and her talons bit into the hardwood as Ella dragged herself back toward the door. Through her tunnel vision, there was only Moira, only the tantalizing glow of her veins beneath that porcelain skin, the sweet scent of blood a desperate siren’s song.

  “Believe what you want,” Malachi said softly, his voice muffled against the high-pitched whine screeching between her ears. “When I’m through with her, you’ll have your darling sister back, whole and healthy again.”

  The last thing Ella saw before he slammed the door in her face was Moira’s fear, her arms limp at her side—helpless.

  Chapter Nine

  Ella had always loved food.

  The smells, the tastes, the textures—all that was the obvious stuff, but what she had enjoyed most about food was its ability to make you feel. Had a horrible first date with a jerk? Cookie dough ice cream could erase it. Want your crazy family to act civil for fifteen glorious minutes? Shepherd’s pie with a dollop of homemade mashed potatoes and gravy. Girls’ night in? Chips, chocolate, and wine. Food made everything better. It capped off celebrations, and it softened the sting of failure.

  Ella had been cooking since she was old enough to stand on a stool and mix cookie batter, just her and her grandma in the kitchen, accompanied by the croon of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, big-band records humming from the living room. Food—food was everything. It was an expression of love and appreciation, joy and celebration. Spicy, sweet, savory, sour. She was the one to coax her friends into trying pop-up eateries and foreign delights. She had always been bold, brave, her palate open to any and all newcomers. Very seldom had food ever let her down.

  These days, her tastes were quite singular. Blood. Demon blood kept her full and sane, quieting the beast within. Slowly, over the course of the last week, blood had allowed her to spend more time with her roommates. It had given her the ability to explore the four-story home in her new body with her new heightened senses, no longer confined to a bedroom that had slowly started to feel like a tomb, strangling the life out of her, bit by bit, hour by hour.

  Once more, food had set her free.

  Sure, it lacked seasoning and flare. The cooking process, something she had once loved almost as much as the meal itself, had gone out the window. After she’d been turned, Ella feared that her loving relationship with food had, like most other things, shot straight to hell with no hope of redemption.

  Food might have had a different definition now. It came with a whole host of feelings courtesy of her chaos demon supplier, but at the end of the day, it was still just food. It was a piece of her old life that came back once she finally let it in, and Ella intended to make the most of it—for as long as Malachi would let her.

  And you know what? It helped. Period. It helped make the transition from human to vampire easier. It helped her be around Moira and Alaric, her tolerance to their humanity growing with every feeding. She continued to love food, and even though she couldn’t share her new preferences with the others, Ella could still season a roast and mash some sweet potatoes, bake biscuits and lather them with homemade chive butter. Even if the food she had once loved so dearly choked her now, the sentiment was still there. She could cook, bake, and serve a generous portion of love to her whole household. She could watch them eat it, love it, with happy tears in her eyes.

  Tonight, food had told Moira, Severus, Alaric, Cordelia, and, fuck it, even Malachi that she appreciated their time, energy, and patience with her since the incident. Without them, she would have wasted away to nothing. And even though she said as much over the toast she’d made, her coffee mug half-full of Malachi’s blood, the wound on his arm healed within minutes, it was her food that spoke the loudest.

  Today was the first day where things had almost felt normal. Ella had cooked a veritable feast for dinner, enjoyed by all parties, blackout curtains hanging over the first-floor windows just to be certain no wayward rays bounced in. Afterward, Alaric and Cordelia had been called away for a visit with Verrier. At Ella’s insistence, Moira had finally left for her first meeting with Zachariah that month, and Severus had disappeared into the night to see to an old client. The incubus had been dreading it for days, but the poor guy looked half-dead by now; Moira had finally put her foot down, with Malachi and Ella as backup, and demanded he go see at least one client to reenergize himself. He didn’t need to have sex, but he definitely needed a human’s touch soon or—well, Ella wasn’t sure what would happen, but it couldn’t be good.

  And then there was Malachi. He had helped clear the table as the others got ready for their various outings, but she had shooed him off when he started loading the dishwasher.

  “It isn’t a thank-you dinner if you do all the cleaning. I’ve got it,” Ella had insisted, shoving him away with a teasing grin. Dark circles rimmed the chaos demon’s eyes, and he had disappeared upstairs without a fuss, likely to crash on the second-floor pullout couch where he had been sleeping for the last few weeks.

  Although he had told her repeatedly that the feedings were nothing to him, that he would heal in no time, that it certainly didn’t hurt, little vampire, Ella knew the blood loss took more out of him than he would ever admit. He might have gotten hard every time. It might have been intense and intimate and heavy, heat rising between them, his hand wandering, her dead heart racing and her sex dripping with desire, but a full week of it had worn him out.

  Severus assured her that his brother would bounce back, that he wouldn’t do it if he didn’t want to. Still, even with that reassurance, a little nugget of guilt had hardened in her gut, refusing to budge, growing each time she noticed the physical toll Malachi’s altruism inflicted.

  He was mostly back to his usual snarky self, thank goodness. Ella looked forward to his private visits with increasing urgency, not just for the sake of his blood either, but she still hoped she would be ready to space the feedings out soon. They were already down to twice a day, and once a week couldn’t come soon enough.

  A warm, cozy quiet filled the house as she finished wiping down the counters. Bathed in the soft yellow glow from the light over the stove, Ella hung her damp cloth on the hook by the sink, the five wineglasses and one mug sitting on the dish rack to dry. Behind her, the dishwasher hummed, its heat rolling out across the first floor. After giving the spotless kitchen a quick once-over, she crossed to the main windows and pulled the blackout curtains back, greeted by Farrow’s Hollow in late November.

  While winter was her least favorite season, she could appreciate the beauty of freshly fallen snow, unblemished by a day’s worth of traffic, the nighttime air cold enough to keep it from melting to slush. Fat, fluffy flakes descended from a dark sky, clouds thick with a full two days’ worth of expected snowfall.

  A little smile played across her lips: she couldn’t wait to get back out there.

  Sure, she’d had to bow out of her new job and put her schooling on hold, but Ella was antsy to be among people again. Malachi estimated she would need another day of regular feedings before she could test her willpower against the general public, but seeing as she hadn’t felt the urge to rip into Moira or Alaric since last weekend, things were looking promising.

  One step at a time, just as Moira had said. Even the smallest ones counted.

  She lingered in front of the window a couple of minutes more, watching the snowflakes drift down, the peace broken by the odd passing car, wheels noisy over the wet concrete. When the longing kicked in, the loneliness stirring, she drifted upstairs.

  And sure enough, there was Malachi—passed out on the pullout couch, an arm thrown over his face, softly snoring away.

  Ella paus
ed when she knew she shouldn’t, watching him from the railing, feet glued to the spot. For all the crap that came out of his mouth, Malachi Saevitia was probably the most stunning creature she had ever seen, and in that moment, with his golden hair splayed around his head, he looked positively angelic.

  He would balk at the compliment, sure, but it shouldn’t surprise him. After all, he was sex on legs, the epitome of masculine. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. On Earth, his name meant my angel, and while neither he nor Severus had confirmed it, she couldn’t help but wonder if his parents had chosen it as some twisted joke. Here was this beautiful creature, my angel, rising up from the pit to unleash bloody havoc on humanity. He was far from angelic, but in many ways, he was her deliverance from darkness, and Ella would never forget it.

  Her body responded viscerally to him, same as always, like someone had looped a golden string around her heart—her sex—and slowly but surely tugged her toward him. She felt the pull so much stronger as a vampire than she had as a human, but she had the strength to ignore it.

  Even if it made her tremble to walk away.

  Even if that golden rope tightened around her dead heart with every step in the opposite direction, the sharp bite making her question herself more than once.

  Holding herself in a solo hug, Ella darted up to the third floor, her sanctuary, in a determined silence. Without Moira around to distract her, she needed to find something to keep herself busy with—because idle hands were the devil’s playthings, or whatever.

  Idle hands that longed to trail up Malachi’s torso and bury themselves in his hair.

  Shaking her head, she closed her bedroom door and got to work. There was laundry to fold and tidying to do. She whiled away about an hour with busywork, forcing herself to sing under her breath whenever Malachi’s handsome face popped into her mind’s eye. Bathroom clean. Bed made. Clothes folded and put away. Social media loitered on and pillows fluffed.

  She had done all she could to keep distracted, but it wasn’t enough.

  Because here she was, wearing the same loose tee and tiny shorts she always wore for housework, padding back downstairs to the second floor. Ella had planned to tuck in for the night with a movie by herself, snuggled under the covers with an old rom-com favorite that always made her laugh. She had dipped out of her bedroom with the intention of grabbing her laptop off the couch—and now she was here, standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring at a sleeping Malachi like a creep.

  A horny, horny creep.

  Little vampire. His new pet name nibbled across her skin, and she shivered, gripping the railing so tight the metal warped in her palm.

  Why was this happening?

  Ella had always been physically attracted to Malachi, and while that alone wasn’t enough to mean anything, his colorful personality had grown on her—clearly. She might have been a social butterfly from birth, but she didn’t go around kissing men, drunk or not, if she didn’t feel something for them.

  This was different. Her body responded to Malachi’s presence with an intensity that both scared and thrilled her. With him, Ella almost felt human again. Almost. Even though it wasn’t beating, she swore her heart thundered the nearer they stood to one another. In his arms, heat licked down her body, pebbling her nipples, pooling between her thighs. While some of her humanity was coming back around the others, genuine emotion catching like a struck match, Malachi brought it out to the moon and back—and then some.

  She took a step toward him, then forced herself to stop.

  Ella, bella, come outside…

  Scowling, she wiggled a finger in her ear, then shrugged off the purr of that invasive manly whisper that called to her a few times a day. Once she had started feeding, the voice was clearer again, more present in the forefront of her mind. It had to do with the blood, she was sure of it, but she had been too nervous to confirm her suspicions with Cordelia, who possessed the best know-how on vampire transitioning. Because maybe the blood was doing it to her, or maybe she was just going crazy. Maybe it was something more sinister. Whatever the reason, usually she could ignore it, and that was what Ella intended to do.

  If only the same could be said for the chaos demon before her. Sighing deeply, Malachi shifted about on his back, eyes dancing beneath their lids, and tucked the arm thrown over his face under his head. Every cell in her body seemed to hold its breath as he made himself more comfortable, shirt open one button too many, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, shoes tucked neatly under the pullout.

  When he settled again, snoring faintly, she let out an unnecessary exhale and pushed at her curls. Go back upstairs, Ella. Go watch your movie and forget he’s even here.

  Another step toward him.

  Logic demanded she turn around and go.

  But her dead heart won, dragging her the rest of the way until her knees touched the wooden bedframe. A dull ache kissed her gums as she lowered herself onto the mattress—a mattress nowhere near plush enough for a drama queen like Malachi, and yet he had slept on it for weeks without complaint.

  Slowly, painfully so, she crawled across the huge pullout, pausing at his crossed ankles. What was she doing? Why was she here? His head lolled to the side with his next deep breath, the enormous bulge in his throat bobbing as he murmured something nonsensical in his sleep.

  Something not in English.

  Not in Latin either. Something dark, dangerous and demonic. Her stomach looped, pleasurable little waves cruising through her veins like the surging tide.

  Kneeling beside him, fidgety hands in her lap, she was here to… to…

  Her gaze drifted up to his exposed neck. The golden scruff stopped just at its peak, trim and neat, the perfect length for dragging her talons through as an obsidian gaze tracked her every movement.

  Ella swallowed thickly as her fangs extended just a fraction farther.

  That had to be it—she was here to feed.

  Because, you know, she hadn’t fed in…

  Oh. An hour. At dinner. Demon blood from a mug—

  Damn it.

  Sunrise and sunset had become her daily mealtime over the last two days. Fairly simple to keep track of, and certainly easier on Malachi’s body. So, really, hunger wasn’t an excuse for any of this.

  At least, not hunger by its most basic definition.

  She had only ever sampled his arm before, and as his pulse flickered slow and steady beneath the thin, smooth flesh of his throat, Ella couldn’t help but wonder if it tasted any different there.

  Maybe… Maybe he wouldn’t mind if she tested that theory. Malachi had always encouraged her growth as a vampire. This was just… growth.

  Keep telling yourself that, honey.

  Ella rolled her eyes; all these excuses were pathetic—weak at best.

  And yet weak and pathetic were enough to justify her crawling up his body, careful not to touch him, careful not to cause too great a dip in the mattress. She knelt in the crook of his arm, which sat nestled under his feather pillow, the other folded under his head. Her fingers grazed up his chest, barely a touch, the expensive cotton tickling her tips.

  Ella hesitated at his collar, standing at the precipice.

  She could still leave. Once she did this, there was no going back.

  Lower lip snagged between her teeth, she gripped his stiff collar firmly, forgoing gentle caresses and tentative grazes, and pounced. Piping hot nectar of the gods filled her mouth and spilled down her throat the moment her teeth broke skin, and Ella moaned in wild abandon, twisting the lux material in one hand, nudging his head aside for better access with the other.

  Heaven was probably out of the cards for a creature like her—but feeding from Malachi tasted like a pretty phenomenal substitute.

  The chaos demon startled awake with a groan, his body rousing beneath her, chest swelling with a hissed breath, knees popping up, arm snapping around her waist. Eyes closed, she sunk in deeper, clinging to him, riding out the movements like she had just mounted the world’s sexiest mechanical bull.
Demon blood pounded through her limbs, filled her belly—made her feel alive. More than alive. More than human. Like she was floating. Like she was goddamn invincible.

  “Ella?” Malachi’s hand sunk into her hair, gently at first, wading through the mountain of curl and cupping the base of her skull. “W-what…?”

  Her body positively hummed at his sleepy rasp, and her right hand snaked up his chin to rake her talons across his scruff. Harshly. Violently. Enough to draw blood, maybe—enough to make him hard, definitely. Malachi growled, the guttural vibrations in his chest teasing her pebbled nipples, sports bra be damned, and he sat up swiftly, dragging her with him.

  His grip tightened painfully around her hair as he yanked her away. Any gentleness he may have reserved for her when she was human had been dead and buried for weeks—and it thrilled her. She could withstand his strength. She even welcomed the slight twinge of pain, because at least she could fucking feel it again.

  Blood dribbled over her lips, down her chin, stained the neckline of her ratty old tee. It streaked down Malachi’s neck, disappearing beneath the button-down, already staining through the heather-grey fabric. She had no excuses, no quip locked and loaded. Malachi always seemed to enjoy sparring with her, verbally or otherwise, but tonight she had nothing but a defiant arch of her brow and a smug lift of her lips.

  Her eyes screamed So what?

  Her mouth oozed a bloody challenge.

  Her body begged to be punished.

  For a few roaring beats of his heart, Malachi’s expression straddled the razor-thin line between rage and desire.

  But then she saw fire ignite in the black, his demonic gaze obvious as sin—so damn transparent that Ella actually moaned. Mouth curled in a snarl, Malachi steered her to him by the hair and claimed her with a bruising kiss. While her eyes threatened to flutter shut, as though this were some innocent first kiss sweet enough to make her leg pop, Ella forced them open, drinking in the brutality shimmering behind his full-black stare.